


Beard

by RoughTweedAction (Donya)



Series: Holmescest smutty fiku-miku [7]
Category: Sherlock (TV)
Genre: Beards (Facial Hair), M/M, Oops, Porn, Sibling Incest, This came out kinkier than I thought, holmescest
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-05-20
Updated: 2017-05-20
Packaged: 2018-11-02 12:10:12
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,345
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/10944228
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Donya/pseuds/RoughTweedAction
Summary: Mycroft has a beard. Sherlock approves. Approves enthusiastically.





	Beard

John noticed something peculiar. Sherlock developed a rash. The skin on his face and neck, usually spotless, now looked like it was sandpapered. While that alone was not improbable, knowing Sherlock, he also seemed oddly content. Happy, even. Certainly not as overwrought and over-animated as he had been recently. If John hadn't known better, he would have suspected beard burns and finally resolved sexual tension. But the idea of Sherlock getting cosy with a bearded man, or any man at all, seemed ridiculous.

John dropped by only because he was in the area, not to catch Sherlock conducting an experiment with someone else's facial hair. He tiptoed up the stairs only to avoid Mrs Hudson's questions about his return to 221 b. As he predicted, Sherlock wasn't alone, the other voice was familiar. 'Oh,' John said in disappointment, having recognised it. That was Mycroft.

John walked in, said hi. Sherlock nearly dropped his cup of tea. Mycroft turned to face him and oh, God, he had a beard. Not outrageously long or particularly bushy, as everything about him it was neat and elegant. Even John had to admit that it suited him. Having lost the precious hair island, Mycroft was bound to seek alternatives and fortunately, chose a beard and not a moustache.

'John,' Mycroft greeted him. Even his voice sounded deeper. More manly. He looked dapper as usual, but John could easily picture him as a ruthless pirate... or as a geeky writer.

'Wait a second,' John said.

Mycroft ignored him and left in a hurry. Sherlock calmed down and finished his tea, most likely unaware of his new habit of stroking his chaffed cheeks absent-mindedly. 

'Wait a second, is... are you-'

'How is Rosie? She was about to start crawling.'

John narrowed his eyes. Distracting him with his favourite conversation topic was usually effective, now it only fueled his suspicions.

 

Sherlock had been waiting for this ever since Mycroft's hairline began to recede. He knew how insecure Mycroft was about his physical appearance and how much he wanted to be attractive enough to keep Sherlock interested. There was only one reasonable option when the amount of hair on his head became distressingly low. A beard. Sherlock had taken the precaution of stating clearly how he felt about moustaches. Mycroft did listen and when the time came, he grew a beard.

They didn't see each other for a couple of days. Sherlock came to Mycroft's office, officially to discuss Eurus, unofficially to demand attention and an orgasm. All thoughts evaporated from his mind when he saw Mycroft and the beginning of his beard. Mycroft observed him for a long moment, not quite sure if Sherlock liked what he saw or not.

'What do you think?' He asked eventually, with a touch of anxiety.

Sherlock recovered enough to lock the door and cross the room to him. The latter was a little miracle, as his knees were so weak and he could hardly put one foot in front of the other, he was that hard. Not sure he could speak logically, he opted for a non-verbal reply. He slid into Mycroft's lap, wrapped his arms around him and leant in to rub his smooth cheeks against Mycroft's stubbly ones, like a gigantic, possessive cat. To clarify his view on stubbles and beards, he kept touching it, rolled his hips against Mycroft's belly and moaned.

'I assume you do like it, then.'

'Don't ever shave again.'

 

Waiting for the beard to grow was like watching the water boil. Sexual frustration was driving Sherlock mad. He wanted to explore the possibilities the beard provided but sadly, any contact with the short, sharp beard would be too painful. Mycroft was pleased with his enthusiastic reaction and wild plans to spice up their intimate relation.

Unsurprisingly, Sherlock was not the only person infatuated by the beard. Goldfish gathered around Mycroft and enthused over his wonderful new look. The risk of a midlife crisis was definitely lowered and Sherlock's poorly concealed jealousy boosted Mycroft's mood. It was a win-win situation and they had only just begun.

After a whole eternity of waiting and the good quality beard balm, they could finally fulfil Sherlock's fantasy. Sherlock was fully erect before he even got out of the taxi. For once Mycroft did not comment on his habit of undressing in the corridor and scattering clothes like a barbarian. Sherlock's frantic battle with his buttons probably amused him, it was hard to read him in such a tense moment.

Mycroft had only managed to sit down on the bed before Sherlock attacked him. He was on top of him, slightly taken aback by his own ferocity, pawing at his freckled arms and assaulting him with his mouth. Mycroft chuckled softly, amused and flattered by this vehemence. He went pliant and let Sherlock have the upper hand for a couple of minutes. Sherlock appreciated the opportunity, kissed his lips greedily, amazed by the blend of the familiar, uncomplicated pleasure and the new thrill of the beard rubbing against his face. It sent shivers down his spine and had him cling to Mycroft more firmly. His smothering kisses and moans louder than usually affected Mycroft and soon they were grinding against each other, hard and wet and filthy. Sherlock felt the tightening in his balls and ecstatic feeling washing over him, but didn't stop, although he wanted Mycroft inside him.

'Not so fast,' Mycroft muttered as he broke the kiss and licked Sherlock's swollen lips. He flipped them over and Sherlock, as always when he was on his back, became uncharacteristically agreeable. He didn't try to finish what he started, even though all it would take was one, good stroke of his hand. If anyone in their relationship was a bit submissive in bed, it was Sherlock. The idea of submitting to his big brother was appealing. Now he was lying under his big, _bearded_ brother and didn't even consider disobeying him. He lay still when Mycroft slowly stroked his cheeks with his hands when he leant in to take a closer look.

'It seems unwise to continue. You have sensitive skin, your beard burns and my beard, people might draw the only logical conclusion,' Mycroft's seductive tone turned the reasonable comment into dirty talk.

'Do you want me to beg? I can,' Sherlock assured him. He was past the point of caring about how desperate he was and never felt guilty about wanting Mycroft so much.

'Do it, then,' Mycroft smirked, smug.

'Please, don't stop.'

'If you insist,' Mycroft whispered, satisfied and nuzzled Sherlock's neck.

It was not a secret how delicate the skin on Sherlock's neck was. Usually protected by a scarf and the collar of his coat, now it was exposed to Mycroft's touches. Simple, warm kisses and a tiny bit of nibbling could easily bring him to the edge, Mycroft often used this knowledge to his advantage. Like now, he dragged his face from Sherlock's clavicle to his ear maddeningly slowly, then kissed his way back to his shoulder. Sherlock could barely hold on, he loved the tender, open-mouthed kisses and the roughness of the beard, both sensations melting into one. Mycroft moved to the other side of his neck and repeated the process. Sherlock's toes curled and his hips thrust up without his conscious decision. Mycroft put his hand on his hips to stop him and Sherlock didn't squirm. At least until Mycroft was done with his neck and slid to his chest. The soft touch of his tongue, licking at his nipple was entirely blissful, as much as the subsequent drag of his bearded cheek. Sherlock gasped, arched off the bed, his hands caught Mycroft's head to keep him there but there was more to come. 

He couldn't hold still when Mycroft's beard marked his belly. The lower it was, the more vocal and restless Sherlock became. Mycroft finally reached his groin and paused there, mainly to appreciate the view and only partly to torment Sherlock. In preparation for that night, Sherlock shaved everything. Completely smooth and vulnerable. He still felt the tingling Mycroft had already caused and it was about to get much more intense. He took a deep, shuddering breath when Mycroft nudged his legs apart, nestled comfortably between them leaning on his elbows and nuzzled his inner thigh.

'I expect you won't come too soon,' Mycroft muttered and moved forward.

Sherlock could not promise anything, not when the beard brushed against his erection. Mycroft mouthed, quite thoroughly, around the root, minding not to press his face against it. The tickling was enjoyable, but Sherlock expected more. Mycroft knew that and once again circled the base, this time he held Sherlock in his hand as his beard made contact with the tender skin. Gently at first, then increasingly harder. Sherlock didn't bother with controlling the sounds that came out of his mouth, he couldn't stay quiet even if he wanted to. Mycroft's tongue was on the underside of his prick, his bearded cheek against his testicles. His thighs quivered with the effort to stay still. He wondered if it was too early to scream.

'Look at me.' Mycroft only had to say it twice to get through the fog of lust.

Sherlock raised his head off the bed. The sight of Mycroft's beard so close to his clean-shaven groin was hotter than he expected. He watched as Mycroft fingers curled around his shaft and tugged it towards Mycroft's cheek. Made the tip, swollen and wet, rub against the side of Mycroft's face. Seeing and feeling this simultaneously resulted in a sensory overload, Sherlock threw his head back helplessly and groaned. He wanted Mycroft to suck him off without teasing and wanted more torment.

He protested weakly when Mycroft let go of him and returned to his thighs. The secretive nature of their relationship forced Mycroft to leave love bites in places that only he and Sherlock could see. A lovely hickey on the fleshy part of his inner thigh, breathtakingly close to his arse, would ease the pain of keeping the distance when they were not alone. Mycroft sucked the skin into his mouth and had to use both hands to keep Sherlock in place. The addition of the beard was wrecking havoc on Sherlock's self-control. Mycroft turned to mark the other thigh and Sherlock was writhing even before it started. He fisted the sheets to stop himself from taking matters into own hands and tangled his legs with Mycroft's. The latter didn't last long. Mycroft looked up to admire the effect of his hard work. He palmed Sherlock's thighs and suddenly pushed until Sherlock's entire backside was above the bed.

Sherlock gave a startled shriek of approbation. He was hoping for this and Mycroft, as always, guessed what he craved.

Mycroft placed his hands on his arse cheeks to steady him and did not waste time. He stuck his tongue out to lick at Sherlock's opening without involving the beard just yet. But he was getting impatient, too. He flattened his tongue, licked a broad stripe to the perineum and finally pressed his face to Sherlock's arse, mouthed at the entrance and turned his head slightly to really let Sherlock feel the scrape of his beard.

'Pass me the lubricant,' Mycroft asked when he released Sherlock and the sobbing mess of his little brother was again flat on the bed.

Sherlock needed a moment to catch his breath and open his eyes. His skin was burning and he suspected he could regret this in the near future, but lust dulled the pain for the time being.

Mycroft was excellent at multitasking. He opened Sherlock up with his fingers whilst showering his belly and chest with kisses. His beard was everywhere, making Sherlock twitch and gasp uncontrollably. He wasn't going to last long, his mind had no control over his tortured body. Mycroft didn't seem to mind, they both knew this would happen again... and again.

Feeling Mycroft sink into him was delightful, even with the added discomfort of the beard burns. Sherlock's contented moan when Mycroft bottomed out was one of the few things that never changed in their lives. A tight embrace and a heated kiss that accompanied the first, careful roll of Mycroft's hips were now joined by the longer than ever neck kissing. Sherlock whined, thinking he couldn't take it any longer, his neck was on fire, every time Mycroft lowered his head, he tensed up even before the beard was close to his chaffed skin. Rough, deep thrusts and a skilful hand stroking him torturously slowly distracted him from the assault on his neck. He wanted it to last, to live in that perfect moment forever, but then Mycroft whispered how hot and tight he was and Sherlock screamed and clamped down on him. The rush of pure bliss was the only thing he was aware of, the pleasure stronger than anything else he had experienced, intensified by the hard, fast pushes and the damned beard on his neck again.

 

Afterwards, he lay next to Mycroft, satisfied with the results of the beard experiment, his body aching and heavy with delicious languour.

Mycroft stroked his beard thoughtfully. 'I fear John might question your sudden allergy. I should avoid him for a while, give you time to heal.'

'Or,' Sherlock said as he made the Herculean effort to raise himself up on one forearm and gave his brother a tempting look, 'we can repeat this, just the three of us, you, me and the beard. No one will ever think we are together.'

'I want to agree,' Mycroft said, hand cupping Sherlock's cheek tenderly. 'But we cannot be so arrogant and reckless. People are more observant than you think.'

'I've never been more attracted to you. To anyone. You look positively edible. Ravishing. Clear your schedule and indulge me.'

'Well, if you put it this way,' Mycroft smiled. 'Fine, let's throw caution to the wind. If we could keep the secret from Mummy all those years, we can fool John Watson as well.'

**Author's Note:**

> Horror Europa, amrite? Hot damn.


End file.
